My office crush has decided that I am the perfect person to give him advice about the boy he’s in love with. I sent him an e-mail full of wise but fairly obvious advice. This was, in part, his reply (keep in mind that I am just days shy of 30 and he has just turned 22):
“i REALLY do not mean this to make you feel anything but happiness in knowing that you have helped a friend, but i want you to know that your experience and years have really helped me.”
Clearly I must check myself into a nursing home first thing tomorrow.
Plus, at cheerleading practice tonight there weren’t enough bases for me to fly, so I had to learn base type things, which I was pathetic at, since I am about one inch taller and three pounds heavier than the flyers (for those of you joining us in the middle of our story, I have been designated a “mid base flyer”). So I had to watch other people do what I wanted to do while not even being able to participate competently in any way.
What if last week’s stint as a flyer was a fluke and my entire cheerleading career is like tonight?
Let’s look on the bright side, though: at the nursing home, at 5’6″ and 135 lbs., I will be a terrific base, able to hurl everybody into the air effortlessly without even taking a break from gumming my apple sauce.